Pick Up the Pieces
by threesummerdays
Summary: "He's too old now for heroics, so instead of leaning over and sweeping her into his arms to carry her up the stairs, he offers his hand. It's enough, and she grasps it tight as he pulls her to her feet." Slight spoilers for 9.07.


**A/N:** So I shot up awake this morning at 4:55 and had the middle of the story running around fully formed in my head. I sat and wrote this whole thing out in about half an hour, so apologies for the oddness of it. Hope you like it!

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She still wakes up some nights in cold sweats with a scream rising like bile in her throat, waiting to fling itself out into the world. Sometimes she's awake enough to hold it back and sometimes she can even fall asleep again. Sometimes, she can't.

Tonight is one of those "can't" nights.

When she wakes up tonight (or is it this morning?), she's panting and sweat-soaked. Before she knows what she's doing, she slides out from under the sheets and pads down to the kitchen.

She leans forward, up against the counter, and tips her head into the sink. On more than one occasion, the rising scream has turned into actual sick and she's not cleaning that up in her current state of mind. When it feels like her body's finally calmed down, she lifts her head and moves from the sink. She stands in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the walls. She doesn't know how long she stays like that, but by the time she decides to make some sweet tea, her feet are ice from the chill of the floor.

She puts the kettle on and moves to pick up a mug. Every memory comes flooding back in such a rush that she drops it with a gasp of pain. The mug shatters on the floor and she finds herself collapsing against the counter, clinging desperately to it as the faces of the past haunt her. As the memories subside, she slides down the cabinets and comes to rest on the cold floor, pulling her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around them.

It doesn't seem like any time passes between then and when he stands in the doorway, watching her anxiously. Before he fully processes what's happened, he's crossed the room and grabbed a towel. As she sits, quivers, on the floor, he picks up the pieces the mug left and throws them away. The water's ready and he grabs another mug, makes her tea – sweet, just the way she likes it.

He lowers himself to the ground, holding in the groan of pain that comes from his aching joints, steaming mug in hand. He offers it to her. On the nights she's woken him, it's become a sort of ritual. Tonight, she ignores it. He presses her shoulder, gently insistent, with his and she finally reaches out and grasps the handle. She begins to sip and is just thinking about speaking, telling him it's good, when Rigaut's face jumps into her mind and she cries out in pain.

The mug starts to slip, but he catches it this time and sets it down beside them. He folds her in his arms and presses her rapid heart tight against his own calmer one. He feels rather than hears her cry, the sobs wracking her body, warm tears sliding down her cheeks and melting into his t-shirt. As he murmurs love to her, he strokes her hair, rubs her shoulders, gently kisses her forehead.

It's another part of the ritual. After that day, she became more skittish about being touched. He tried to brush her hair back and she would take three steps away from him. He would try to kiss her and she would turn her head. Now, after all the nights he's been soothing her, she's starting to pull herself together. He still feels her shudder as his lips touch her skin, but she doesn't physically separate from him. He can tell she's trying her best not to shut him out anymore, and he loves her all the more for it.

Her face settles into his neck and he can feel her soft kisses dancing across his skin as she whispers his name. When she pulls her head back, she stares at him and he can see the glimmer of her tears. He's always hated to see her cry, and now's no exception. He lifts his hand slowly, like he's taming a wild animal, and softly sweeps the tears from her cheeks.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Shhhh," he says quietly. "You didn't."

They both know it's a lie. She knows he doesn't sleep well anymore, not since she moved in. He stays up most of the night to watch her sleep and when she has her nightmares, he can sense even her slightest movements, he's been sleeping so lightly of late. As much as she knows it's a lie, it's a comforting one, so she doesn't challenge him. She's about to say something else when he shakes his head and presses a finger to her lips. She falls silent.

He begins his healing one scar at a time. He traces the lines that fall over her eyebrows, around her mouth. He softly kisses the gash that runs across her nose and moves his mouth down to touch her split lip. His fingers lightly brush the line of stitches running from cheek to jaw and he kisses all the way down the line. His lips follow the path down her neck, caressing the remains of her burns, brushing over her bruises gently, so gently. When he pulls his head back, her eyes are closed and she's breathing more calmly.

He slowly uncurls himself from her and stands, brushing himself off. She stares at him from the floor, waiting for his next move. He's too old now for heroics, so instead of leaning over and sweeping her into his arms to carry her up the stairs, he offers his hand. It's enough, and she grasps it tight as he pulls her to her feet. He could pull her close and intimate as they find their way to the stairs, but he knows that's not what she needs right now. Instead, he entwines their fingers and tugs gently at her hand. She's staring at their hands, two pieces of the puzzle, and smiles ever so slightly as he squeezes her fingers.

The mug is left, forgotten, on the floor.

She follows him as he leads her back to bed and doesn't argue when he nudges her under the covers. She curls up tight on her side and listens to the sheets rustling as he tucks himself in. She feels his arm fall around her waist, pulling her closer to his calming heartbeat. She sighs and pushes herself further into his arms. Her eyes close, and she sleeps.

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A/N: **Thanks for reading! :)


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